


Strike three

by livinginthequestion



Category: Down to Agincourt - Fandom, Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinginthequestion/pseuds/livinginthequestion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Amanda was wrong; that wasn't strike two."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike three

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I would dearly love to see happen to Kyle, that little weasel. He so deserves it. Takes place probably Day 152 sometime...

It’s a struggle, but Castiel manages not to shy away from the open doors of the mess hall. His feet slow without his permission, but perhaps that’s understandable. Understandable, too, is his inability to stop glancing feverishly around him, keeping track of who’s behind him and to the side, where the escape routes are; he also observes that he’s fallen in behind Dean instead of remaining beside him as they approach the doors. Dean slows too and looks back at him. His face is calm, eyes steady, just waiting patiently. Castiel realizes after a beat that they’re standing just inside the doors, that he’s still breathing. 

“Smells like the coffee’s done. You ready?” There’s a trace of a smile on Dean’s face. Castiel draws in a long breath and nods. 

 

Inside, he’s caught off guard by the ordinariness, the sheer _normalcy_ of the room. There are a number of people here and there eating and drinking; a few glance up at the two of them, and then turn back to their food. It appears that there are a couple of tables and a few chairs missing, but the remaining furniture has been moved around to fill the spaces. It’s as if nothing unusual had happened here, as though he had not stared down his death, stepped out of time to talk with a goddess, somehow made the choice to continue to live, human or otherwise.

Haruhi moves quickly from the kitchen, weaving through the tables to them. Her smile is warm, with a little edge of worry; she comes straight to Castiel and takes both his hands. 

“I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been experimenting with the coffee/cream/sugar ratio and I think I may have something that will give our fearless leader a run for his money.” She winks at Castiel and smirks up at Dean, who has adopted an affronted expression. Haruhi slips one arm through Castiel’s, turning away from Dean and taking Castiel with her. He can’t help it: his whole body goes into alert, tensing to the point that it takes most of his concentration to move his feet. Haruhi squeezes his arm and continues to talk in her soft, lilting voice. 

“I assume you gentlemen are hungry? I’m going to seat you over near the kitchen, hope that’s okay. I’ve got something special ready for you, and you _will_ eat every bite and thank me profusely afterward. I’ll be wanting a review on the coffee as well.” She smiles up at him and gestures to a small table against the wall, pulling him to a stop. “Here you are, your table, sir.” 

Castiel lets out an embarrassing gasp of air. Haruhi rests her hand on his arm for a moment and then heads for the kitchen. Castiel draws another deep breath, hoping he doesn’t choke on it. He doesn’t, and feels encouraged enough to drop into one of the chairs. Dean sits in the other one, eyes fixed on Castiel’s face. 

“You okay?” Castiel nods jerkily, startling only a little when Haruhi reappears beside him with a couple of loaded plates. She makes an apologetic face as she set the plates down. 

“I’ll be right back with the coffee. Dig in, boys.” She winks at Dean. 

 

After a few minutes Castiel has relaxed to the point that chewing and swallowing are no longer a painful struggle, and is even noticing something of a rise in his enjoyment level. The food is - pleasant, at any rate, and the coffee, while not quite to Dean’s standards, tastes lovely. He chews and sips, his eyes mostly on his plate and mug. Occasionally he glances at Dean’s face; whatever he sees there - cocky smirk, warm regard, tender kindness, the glow of approval - lets Castiel relax incrementally, breath a tiny bit easier. Their knees bump companionably under the table.

They’re sitting quietly, both paying attention to their food and each other, when suddenly Castiel feels the increase of tension in the air. He looks up at Dean, whose attention has abruptly shifted toward the doors at the other end of the long room. Castiel has time to notice that Christina, sitting at one of the bigger tables nearby, has also noticed Dean’s glare, and has adopted a similar attitude when she follows his gaze. Frowning, Castiel turns to look. 

Kyle has entered the mess, stopping just inside to look around. He sees Castiel first; the expression that forms on his face impacts Castiel like a physical blow. For a moment he thinks he might lose the just-consumed contents of his stomach. He’s spared that humiliation by observing Kyle as he realizes who’s sitting with Castiel and can’t quite wipe the look off his face in time. 

Apparently that’s what Dean was waiting for: he stands so quickly Castiel is unaware of his movement until he’s already vertical and moving away from the table. Across the way Christina is also on her feet - not to stop Dean’s progress, but to move into position to back whatever play he’s intent upon. 

Because intent Dean is - he’s not moving particularly fast, but steadily and with purpose, his eyes never leaving Kyle’s. Castiel rises slowly and watches as Kyle pales, takes a couple of steps back, then stops and lifts his chin. Inwardly, Castiel shakes his head; after everything that’s happened this young fool still has not learned how to pick his battles, or that some battles are lost before they’ve begun. He opens his eyes as Kyle speaks. 

“Dean, c’mon, I didn’t do anything, you can’t - “ 

Dean doesn’t stop or even slow down; as he gets within range his right hand, clenched in a fist, flashes up and connects with the sound of a heavy object thumping to the ground from a great height. Kyle grunts and crashes backward into the wall, collapsing in a pile on the floor. Dean, still on the move, bends down and snatches him up by the shirt front. He holds Kyle in position, nose-to-nose, so close neither of them could take a deep breath without bumping against the other’s chest. Kyle stands frozen under his commander’s gaze, wheezing and gulping audibly. After a moment Dean smiles slowly. His voice, when he finally speaks, is calm, flat, hard as stone. 

“Amanda was wrong; that wasn’t strike two.” Kyle frowns and shakes his head minutely, clearly confused. Dean’s smile becomes predatory. 

“Strike three is already on its way, pal. Fastball, too. No time to swing now, know what I’m sayin?” He gives Kyle a sharp shake, and Kyle squeaks in terror. 

“You’re done. I don’t want to lay eyes on you again. I guess you could manage to stick around for awhile longer by avoiding me, but you can’t keep that up forever. You better make some plans.” 

To Castiel’s astonishment, Kyle manages to work up the nerve, possibly born of innate stupidity, to try to speak. 

“Hey, you c-” 

Dean raises his eyebrows, and Kyle dries up, swallows hard, drops his eyes. After a second Dean makes a sort of flicking-off motion. Kyle stumbles backward, just managing to keep his feet. He wipes at his face, looks wildly around the room, and bolts out the door. 

There’s another moment of silence, then murmuring breaks out all over the mess hall. Castiel shivers at the sound - it’s too much like the gibbering and nearly-incoherent praying that marked the last time he was in this room with far too many people. He’s sweating and gulping a bit himself, and sinks into his chair as Dean strolls back to their table. He gives Castiel a small smile, turns to ask Haruhi for more coffee as he slides into his seat. 

Castiel’s eyes follow Dean the entire time, resting on his face as Dean smiles up at Haruhi and sips the hot coffee. 

“What?” Dean’s watching him calmly. Castiel can feel his face growing warm; he’s blushing for heaven’s sake, he’s too warm all over and can feel an entirely different sort of shiver rise from his belly. His traitorous face shifts into what is surely a dopey smile. 

“N-nothing, I just, ah…” Castiel clears his throat. “That was - unexpected.” His voice fails him; he gasps a little, and Dean’s smile becomes a smirk. Castiel should be annoyed with Dean, with _himself_. Instead, he can’t look away. 

“You about done?” Dean asks, pointing with his chin at Castiel’s nearly-empty plate. 

Castiel bobs his head. “Yes, I don’t think I can eat another bite.” 

Haruhi’s voice comes from somewhere behind Dean. “And? It was good? the coffee too, right?” 

“Yes, it was delicious, thank you.” Castiel nods again, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face. 

Dean holds out a hand. “Let’s go then. I’m sure you’ve got some reports to read or something.” He winks, and Castiel lets himself be pulled to his feet. 

“I-I don’t think so, but I’ll ask Amanda.” 

Dean slides an arm around Castiel’s shoulders; they head for the doors, moving easily through what might as well be a completely empty room as far as Castiel is concerned. 

“Nah, let’s not bother Amanda. We’ll figure something out.” 

They’ve reached the doors, they’re walking through them and out to the street. If there’s chatter going on behind him, Castiel can’t hear it. There are a few people coming toward them, passing without a glance and disappearing into the mess hall. Castiel notices them, but without the feeling of dread. He stops, and watches Dean turn toward him, that little smile still in place on Dean’s face. 

“What’s up, Cas? Someplace you wanna go?” 

Castiel feels his face relax, his face, neck, shoulders, the lump in his throat. The corners of his mouth lift. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.” 

Dean reaches out and slips his fingers around Castiel’s wrist, not gripping, just a loose circle. They turn and start down the street toward their quarters. They both stop abruptly at the sound of running feet skidding to a stop in the gravel. It’s Amanda, pratically crashing into them, her wild-eyed expression shifting amusingly from terror, to concern, to puzzlement, finally to somewhat abashed. 

“Oh. Oh hi, guys, I was just - um, you haven’t by any chance - I don’t suppose you’ve seen, uh…” She sighs and regroups. “I was told Kyle was headed for the mess, and I knew you were going there, and I thought maybe - Um, did you see him?”

Dean’s smirking again. “Kyle? Yeah, a few minutes ago. With luck that’ll be the last time. Oh by the way, glad I ran into you, I wanted to let you know you’ll need to replace Kyle on his patrol. Effective immediately.” He’s watching Amanda’s face, and Castiel has to look away to avoid laughing out loud. 

“Ah.” Amanda’s completely still for a moment, her eyes fixed on Dean’s. Then she gives him a brilliant smile, and nods once, firmly. “Excellent. Good news. I’ll get on that immediately. I appreciate- um, yeah. Thanks.” She beams up at him and winks at Castiel. “Buy you guys a cup of coffee? Haruhi’s been perfecting some kind of modifications, rumored to be delicious.” 

Castiel steps in before Dean can answer. “Thank you, Amanda, but we’ve just had some. It IS delicious, by the way. And we have a - pressing engagement.” He smiles into her eyes and very carefully does _not_ look at Dean. Castiel can feel the quiver of impending hilarity in Dean’s grip on his wrist; better not to fan those particular flames in the middle of the street, tempting though it is. 

Amanda makes a choked sound; her lips quirk up as though she’s also struggling against an outburst. “Ah. Sure, sounds good. Have a good day, you two.” She waves over her shoulder as she heads for the mess hall door. Dean looks over at Cas, his eyes sparkling. 

“Pressing?” 

Cas leans into him briefly and gives his arm a tug as they start off again. “Yes. Very.”


End file.
